


you’ve memorised it (it’s all you know)

by sixhours



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Daddy Issues, Gen, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Slurs, Violence, implied gay character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixhours/pseuds/sixhours
Summary: Schlatt doesn’t really love you, you know this. You’ve known since you started growing those horns.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Kudos: 68





	you’ve memorised it (it’s all you know)

**Author's Note:**

> pogchamp reminder to read the tags  
> uhh all is fiction obviously and based around the dream smp. very much a vent

The first thing you learn when you grow up part of the ram family, is that business is business and the horns on your head hold a deeper amount of weight than you ever will. You can scratch, fight, draw a sword all you want, but your roots will never leave you. You’re stuck whether you like it or not. With the attachment to a joke of a bloodline.

-

Your dad worked at the shop across from the weird kid’s house until he stops showing up and gets fired. You go outside and stare at the bees to stay away from him, but he slaps the back of your head if you stay out too long and tells you to stop being such a pussy when you cry. Something about _God_ this and that, _it’s the way he intended,_ blah blah, _what the fuck did he ever do to you?_

You tell him to go to hell.

No, you didn’t say that. No, you’re not a fag. No, you didn’t just roll your eyes.

Sure. Whatever. Maybe Schlatt pushed you around a little after that. You can’t say you didn’t deserve it.

-

You sit at the end of your house with a pout on your face. It’s not even a home—for better word, it’s a shack that holds little to no feeling. The clouds loom over, taunting you, as you beg to be swept up by the swarm.

You sigh as you hold the necklace dad had given you as a kid. Apparently it reminded him of your Mum. It makes you think of the songs he’d sing to lull you to sleep.

Schlatt, _Dad,_ before-he-lost-his-fucking-mind-Dad. You can’t help but take in a shaky breath. He would probably push your shoulder for this. Dig in his nails where it hurt. Hold a finger to your chest and jab like you’re a toy.

He’s sitting in the little front garden in their only busted-up green garden chair. His hair is frizzy and he’s petting the cat. You briefly wonder if he’s dead and go inside.

There’s a cross on the necklace. You’ve never even been to church before. 

-

The weird kid, Tommy, apparently, sits on the curb next to you. You still don’t know who he is, or how long he’s been here. He’s tall, and strong, so you refrain from speaking to him—finally shut your goddamn mouth for once, Christ, Toby, you’re something else—he asks for your name and you shrug.

Tommy’s got this real smug attitude about him all the time, one that makes him look so punchable. You think if you were just a little stupider, maybe more like Schlatt, you’d probably push your luck, open your big mouth and end up with a worse pain throbbing all over your body than what you feel right now. As you think this you push against the bruise with your finger and hiss.

“Another fight?” He asks, cheeky smile on his face. This is dangerous. You almost feel like an alarm is going off in your head.

Was asking for another one?

You bite your lip, glance at the shack. You play along, because it’s all you know. “You should see the other guy.”

-

You hate pulling a cigarette out from your pocket and handing it to Tommy, hate lighting it up as Tommy holds it in his mouth, hate being able to see Tommy’s nose and freckles and eyes up close. It feels too intimate, too weird. You pull away as soon as you can and try not to think about it.

-

You’re thirteen when you grab a knife from the kitchen counter and go to town on your horns. Breathing heavy by the end of it, shavings surrounding you in a circle. You look awful. Dirty and messed up and still a Goddamn ram. You have to grin in the mirror before you cry.

No, you didn’t do anything. No, you’re not apart of this family. No, you didn’t just murmur an insult. No, you’re not resisting—I’m just trying to help you, son.

Tommy says you should think things through more, which leaves him with a black eye.

-

Schlatt doesn’t really love you, you know this. You’ve known it since he drank three beers and passed out on the couch without wishing you a happy birthday. You’ve known since he didn’t cook dinner because he didn’t _feel_ like it when you were seven. You’ve known since you started growing those horns.

But it’s still a kick in the balls to see Tommy smile and prance around all lovey-dovey with his family. They’re so normalit pains you. As normal as an angel with three different adopted hybrid sons can get. When Phil offers you food, or conversation, or even a _hug_ that one time Schlatt went to the hospital, you decline.

You hold your breath in the bathtub until you see stars.

Runs in the family, you guess.

-

“You need to get over him,” Tommy says. Tubbo would rather be dead and have this conversation right now. He said it like it was easy. Like he knows what it’s like.

“Fuck you.”

“C’mon, you—you know I didn’t mean it like—“

Sure. Because Tommy _never_ means anything he says, and fathers are God given gifts from heaven that match up to what you deserve and are going to be. You huff out a laugh.

You’re seventeen and one of your horns is raggedly chopped off and it burns more than anything. You think maybe this family is a curse. You know you can’t leave, so you play along, because it’s all you know.


End file.
